


flowers in your hair

by Amymel86



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drunk!Sansa, F/M, Prompt Fill, meet cute, short fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 11:32:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17324252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amymel86/pseuds/Amymel86
Summary: “You didn’t tell me he was so hot!”she said in very audible, decidedly un-hushed tones.“Does he know he’s not wearing a shirt? Should we tell him?”Arya bat away the redhead’s hand and tried to ignore her giggles. “What my sistermeantto say was, can she hide at yours for a few hours…please?”Sister, huh? Sothiswas the infamousSansa.Jon had heard from Arya about all her siblings, not excluding Sansa, who was reportedly ‘the golden child’ that could do no wrong.





	flowers in your hair

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt 'flowers in your hair' came from the lovely @stoneandsnow on tumblr and was originally for the game 'send me a fic title and I'll give you the synopsis' - but since I've taken a little festive break from writing, I thought I'd use it as a bit of a warm up to get back into the swing of things.
> 
> I wasn't going to post this here as I'm feeling all kinds of rusty, but I thought it would help boost the numbers if nothing else :)

_BANG! BANG! BANG!_

Jon groaned into the crook of his arm where he had previously been blissfully asleep on his stomach. His other arm was trapped between his body and the mattress, feeling all numb and fuzzy from his weight.

_BANG! BANG! BANG!_

_What the fuck?_ He mumbled, looking to his alarm clock blinking some neon green numbers back at him. Blindly reaching over to his nightstand to find his glasses, Jon blinked at the offending clock. 1.02pm. OK, so he really shouldn’t still be in bed at this time, but since the boys were round last night for what seems to be their now weekly ritual of barging into his flat and consuming all his beer, he really,  _really_ needed those extra hours of sleep. He’s not getting any younger after all.

 _BANG! BANG! BANG!_  “Jon are you in there?!”

 _Arya?_  Jon rose from his sleepy sanctuary and slung on a pair of jogging bottoms, forgoing a shirt since it’s only his friend and neighbour after all. He paused in the hallway, taking note with a grimace at his hair sticking out in all directions.

 _BANG! BANG!_  “Jon c’mon! Open up, I need a favour!”

“Alright, alright! I’m coming!” he called, yanking open the door to find that his neighbour was not alone.

Jon’s eyes immediately left Arya’s apologetic looking expression to see the slender redhead who was leaning on her for support. She wore little denim shorts, a plain white t-shirt tucked in, cowboy boots that looks like they’ve never been near a horse and a circlet of blue roses in her hair.

“Oh,  _hello sailor!”_  the redhead hiccuped with a wide grin, proceeded by a string of giggles.

Jon looked to Arya for some form of guidance in this. “Jon –“ she started, only to be cut off by the redhead leaning into her, cupping her hand to Arya’s ear so she could none-too-subtly whisper-shout into it.

“ _You didn’t tell me he was so hot!”_  she said in very audible, decidedly un-hushed tones. “ _Does he know he’s not wearing a shirt? Should we tell him?”_

Arya bat away the redhead’s hand and tried to ignore her giggles. “What my sister  _meant_  to say was, can she hide at yours for a few hours…please?”

Sister, huh? So  _this_  was the infamous  _Sansa._  Jon had heard from Arya about all her siblings, not excluding Sansa, who was reportedly ‘the golden child’ that could do no wrong.

“Erm, no,” Jon answered with a scrunched nose. Arya being Arya, completely ignored him and barged past into his flat, leading Sansa towards his sofa.

“C’mon Jon,” she pleaded, dropping her sister onto the sofa cushions with more giggles, “just this one little teensy favour? I bet you don’t have any plans today anyway. Unless sitting around, moping about your non-existent love life counts?”

Jon was not about to admit that she had a point.

“Why is she so drunk?” he asked as they both stood there watching Sansa slide onto the floor like a boneless feline and then crawl on hands and knees towards his CD rack. She huffed as she sat herself in front of it, her long, long legs splayed either side and her head cocked kind of adorably as she tried to read the spines of each CD case.

“Her and Harry broke up,” Arya explained in an actual functioning whisper whilst they both continued to watch Sansa pull out CD after CD. “They were engaged and living in The Vale. That’s all gone to shit now and she’s crashing at mine. I took her to the music festival happening at Visenya Park today hoping it would cheer her up but she got a bit carried away with the shots.”

“Okaaay,” Jon nod his head, understanding everything so far, “but why do you need to hide her?”

“Who owns all this sad, sad music?” Sansa asked with CDs in both hands, “The Smiths? Manic Street Preachers?  _Radiohead?!”_ she turned to them both, her pretty face framing a worried looking pout, “it’s all so  _sad!”_

“Err…” Jon rubbed awkwardly at the back of his neck and shot Arya a quick look, “that’s…that’s my music.”

Sansa scrambled surprisingly elegantly to her feet, leaving a few piles of CDs on the floor before coming to stand in front of Jon. She took both his hands in hers, her forget-me-not blue eyes looking into his with concern. “Are you sad, Jon?” she asked, in all seriousness, “we can be sad together.”

“Um, thanks? I think…”

“Did you just waste four years in a relationship with someone who was terrible in bed too?”

“What?” he furrowed his brow and glanced to Arya – who seemed thoroughly entertained by the whole thing, “no.”

“He would never let me go on top,” Sansa continued, seemingly letting her thoughts come tumbling from her mouth completely unfiltered, all while still holding onto both his hands as he stood, utterly bemused and shirtless in his own lounge. “Why wouldn’t he let me do that?”

“Um… I don’t…I-“ Jon stammered shaking his head to hopefully dispel the mental image coming to him right now. He certainly couldn’t see any reason that he wouldn’t let Sansa do anything she likes in that regard.

“He was just a control freak, Sans,” Arya butt in with a shrug, saving Jon from his unintelligible stupor.

Sansa turned to her sister but grasped Jon’s hands a fraction tighter when she seemed a little off balance. “But I’m so good at it!” she whined like only an extremely drunk girl can do. She may have even stomped her cowgirl booted foot too. “I can ride that D like a  _champ_!”

Arya laughed. “Sure you can!” she encouraged. Sansa turned to him next and Jon got the distinct feeling she was waiting for his input.

“Err… yeah… I’m sure you’re  _um_ …  _great_  at… at  _that.”_ He must surely be the shade of a raspberry right now.

Sansa giggled. “You know, you’re really cute, Sad Jon,” she told him, releasing one of his hands to gently tap him on the nose with a solitary finger. “ _Boop!”_ Jon blinked back at her which only made her giggle more.

“Uh… thanks?” Try as he may, he couldn’t stop the spread of a grin on his face even while still being thoroughly confused and taken aback.

“Hey, Sans, why don’t you go and freshen up in Jon’s bathroom?” Arya interjected. Her sister agreed and practically twirled away like a happy drunken pixie.

“Can you please explain to me why she needs to hide?”

“I’d totally forgotten that Mum and Dad were coming over tonight for dinner and they don’t yet know about Sansa’s split from Harry.”

Jon’s brows knit together. “Well why don’t you just let her tell them?”

“Are you kidding me?! Drunk Sansa tells it as it is. Drunk Sansa says the first thing that comes into her head without hesitation. Drunk Sansa starts talking to strangers about riding dick!” She gestured to Jon. And she had a fair point. “Sober Sansa would be horrified. Especially if she said something awful in front of Mum and Dad.”

“I thought you said her ‘can do no wrong’ reputation among the Stark clan was infuriating?” Jon asked with a knowing smirk.

“It is!”

Nudging her shoulder teasingly, Jon grinned. “You care about her and what people think about her.”

“It matters to Sansa,” Arya huffed and rolled her eyes. Jon wasn’t fooled. “Anyway, I just need her to lay low until Mum and Dad are gone. Can she stay here?”

“Isn’t there anywhere else she can go?”

Arya wrinkled her nose. “Would you rather me leave her with Theon?” Jon grimaced at the thought. “Exactly! Help me, Obi-Wan JonSnowbi. You’re my only hope!”

Jon snorted, rubbing at the back of his neck again as he thought things over.  _“Fine!”_

“Thank you! I owe you one!”

“You’ll owe me  _five_ ,” Jon retorted as they both watched Sansa skip from the bathroom, across the hall and nonchalantly wander into Jon’s bedroom.

“What in the world?”

“Oh, she’s probably gone to re-arrange your closet,” Arya tells him, “but to be fair, she does that when she’s sober too. It’s just a Sansa thing.”

Jon strides towards his room at the same time as he hears Arya call out an amused  _‘have fun!’_  and bolts out the door before he can change his mind about drunk-sitting her sister. Sure enough, Sansa is rummaging through his wardrobe.

“Sansa?”

She appears from the depths of his closet gripping two hangers, one with a black button-down shirt, and the other a black roll-neck jumper. That sincere look of concern is in her eyes again. They almost look glassy as she softly says, “your clothes are sad too, Sad Jon!”

“I’m not  _that_  sad,” he chuckles, ignoring the little voice in his head that’s contradicting him.

“You need some colour,” she tells him, hanging the clothes back up and walking over to stand in front of him again. Oddly, Jon almost wishes that she’ll take his hands in hers like she had done before. “You need some  _happy_ ,” Sansa reaffirms, smiling a beautiful smile that Jon can only blink at. She reaches up and takes the flower crown of blue roses from her head and places it on top of Jon’s unruly bed-hair. “ _There,”_  she says, pleased with herself, “you can have some of my happy.”

Jon only stands there for a moment or two, utterly perplexed at the situation he’s found himself in before he gives her a truly sincere smile. “Thank you, Sansa.”


End file.
